January Surprise
by Kelmin
Summary: Joanne gets a surprise at the hair salon. Everyone else gets a surprise later.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: Warning for cliffhanger. Really, really mean cliffhanger. Also: if you will be bothered by non-explicit admiration, by women, of a shirtless male, stop here.

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**January Surprise**

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The kids were at school, Roy was on shift, and Joanne was looking forwards to one of her favorite days of the month: a visit to her hairdresser.

She knew it was a vanity, and she knew they really couldn't afford it. But Roy encouraged her to go.

"It's your one luxury—the one thing that's just for you. I want you to do it. Every month. Partly because you always look great, but partly because I know it always makes you feel good, and that makes me happy. So do it," Roy had told her, one morning over coffee, ages and ages ago.

So she and her friend Dianne went to Gina's Salon faithfully, on the second Tuesday of every month. Gina always welcomed them the same way, and today was no exception.

"It's the Annes! Hi Jo, Hi Di!" Gina said, ushering them into the salon. "My faithful first Tuesday ladies."

"Here we are," Joanne said. "Where would you like us?"

"Well, Dianne's going to be with Tracey this morning, and Joanne, you're with me. So come on back," Gina said.

Dianne went to Tracey's booth, and Joanne followed Gina to her booth.

Each stylist had her area decorated differently. Tracey favored outdoor scenes, while another stylist chose movie posters. Gina's specialty, however, was calendars in different themes. Joanne was looking forward to seeing the new selections—it was January tenth, so there would certainly be a new set of calendars for Joanne to look at while she was getting her hair done.

She sat down in the chair, and Gina whipped the black smock over her, fastening it in the back.

"So, Joanne—the usual?"

But Joanne didn't reply. She sat there, jaw hanging slackly, staring at the calendar that was in the center of the top row. She was completely silent for many seconds.

"Joanne?" Gina asked, becoming concerned.

Joanne finally replied, but not with words. Her face went bright red, and she started laughing so hard tears trickled down her cheeks.

"What's the matter?" Gina asked. "I mean, what's so funny?"

Joanne wiped her eyes, and tried to settle down for long enough that she could answer. Finally, she pointed to the large calendar, which featured a fireman, shot at several different angles. In one shot, he was leaning casually against a red truck, arms folded across his bare chest—bare, that was, except for the suspenders. A kitten was perched on his shoulder, completing the eye-rolling pose.

In another shot, again shirtless, he held an axe, in a position that didn't seem realistic to Joanne, but … definitely displayed the subject's pectoral and abdominal assets.

It was the final shot that reddened Joanne's face, though. In that last shot, the largest of the three, the fellow looked exhausted. There was a smear of soot on his forehead, suggesting he'd just been at a fire. A sheen of moisture covered his chiseled—and, yes, naked—upper body. He stood next to what was most definitely a fire station bunk, thumbs hooked in the waist of his bunker pants, on which the buckle was undone, revealing just enough to show that he didn't have anything on underneath, but not enough to get anyone in trouble.

If it hadn't been so funny, it would've been totally hot, Joanne admitted to herself. Or, she revised, blushing harder as she took another look at the third shot, if it hadn't been so hot, it might've been even funnier.

"Oh my God," she said. "I _know_ that guy."

"Um," Gina said nervously, "it's not your husband, is it?"

Joanne shook her head. She was finally regaining control of herself. "No, thank goodness. But let me tell you—nobody, but _nobody_, would ever suspect … this! From him!"

She collapsed in a fit of laughter again.

"I'll tell you what," Gina said finally, when Joanne once again regained her composure. "We'll get you shampooed, then maybe I'll bring the things I need over to the chair in Donna's booth. She's out today, and I don't think she'll mind if we use her chair."

"Okay," Joanne said, clutching her middle weakly. "That's probably a good idea. Because … yeah."

Joanne followed Gina to the shampooing sink, where Dianne and Tracey had just finished. Joanne relaxed her neck into the perfectly-shaped curve in the edge of the sink, and tried not to think about the picture she'd just seen.

"So," Gina said, after she finished rinsing the conditioner out of Joanne's hair. "Who is he?"

**TBC**

A/N: You can't say I didn't warn you.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **The surprise is not just for Joanne.

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**January Surprise, Chapter 2**

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_0855, DeSoto residence, the next morning._

Roy came through the kitchen door and tossed his keys on the counter. The depth of his sigh, and the lateness of his arrival, brought Joanne down the stairs faster than was normal for a post-shift Wednesday morning.

"Hi, honey," Joanne said, kissing Roy softly on the lips. She didn't smell soot on him, so it wasn't a fire, but something had clearly upset her spouse. "Bad shift?"

Roy sat down at the kitchen table.

"Not really—not except for getting toned out six minutes before the end of the shift. That's why I'm late. Because we had to take someone to Rampart who could've darned well taken a cab. Heck, she could've walked, probably," Roy said, rubbing his eyes. "It was just a mildly sprained wrist."

Joanne poured Roy a cup of coffee. It was none too fresh—she always started the pot at ten after eight, since Roy was usually home at about twenty past. But Roy was used to fire station coffee, so an extra half hour on the burner didn't faze him in the slightest.

"That's annoying. I know how much you like to be able to see the kids off on the bus when you get home," Joanne said.

"But that's not all," Roy said, shaking his head. He made a scoffing sound, but his lips quirked up a bit at the same time.

"Oh?" Joanne asked, intrigued by the ambiguity of the expression.

"Chet … well, let's just say he's figured out how to do something nobody else on the shift has ever done before," Roy said, sipping his coffee again.

"Roy DeSoto, are you trying to make me beg?"

Roy raised one eyebrow, and Joanne blushed.

"Just … spill it, you … you … annoying man!"

"Okay, okay," Roy said. "Chet figured out how to get a reaction out of Stoker."

Joanne stopped in her tracks.

"Really."

"Yep. And … well, it got a little out of hand. I mean, I don't think Mike's actually all that mad—I think he was just as surprised as the rest of us that Chet got a rise outta him. But I have to say, Mike's usually the one that you can rely on to be nice and quiet, you know? Keep things calm?" Roy shook his head. "But not today."

"So … what did Chet do, exactly, to get Mike riled up?" Joanne asked.

Roy laughed. "It was ridiculously simple, really. I don't know why he'd never tried it before, it was that simple." He sipped his coffee again, and looked at Joanne.

He got exactly the reaction he was hoping for.

Joanne put her hands on her hips. "I swear, Roy! What. Did. He. Do?!"

"Water bombed him."

Joanne sighed. "That's all? But that's what he _always_ does."

"Ah, that's what he always does to _Johnny_. He'd never done it to Mike before. That's what was so brilliant about it, really. The element of surprise."

"Hmm," Joanne said. "Surprise, huh?"

Roy leaned back in his chair and squinted up at Joanne. "Now _you_ look like you've got something up _your_ sleeve, miss."

"Yep."

Joanne opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a carton of eggs. "Over easy, or scrambled?" she asked.

Roy laughed. "I suppose I asked for that, didn't I."

"A little bit," Joanne said. She took three eggs out of the carton, and set them behind a cutting board on the counter so they wouldn't roll off onto the floor. She leaned against the counter, and crossed her arms, waiting for Roy's response.

"Scrambled, please," Roy said, knowing he was as beaten as the eggs were about to be.

Joanne whipped the eggs up in a bowl, and started them cooking on the stove. She made sure to take her time, and when the eggs were done, she set the plate in front of Roy.

"Don't go anywhere," she said. "I'll be right back."

Roy took a forkful of eggs. "The suspense is killing me," he called out to the empty hallway, trying to sound like he didn't really mean it.

But Joanne returned in ten seconds, with a cardboard tube in her hands. She pulled something out of it, and unrolled it onto the table.

"What's that?" Roy asked.

Joanne flattened the item one more time, and then held it up in both hands.

"Men at Work," she said, displaying the front of the calendar. It showed men, all shirtless, engaged in stereotypes of different jobs. A half-naked fellow was inspecting some x-rays on a light box. Another topless guy was about to get into a police car, and yet another improbably shirtless man was leaning over a patient, holding a dentist's drill.

"And you're showing me this because …" Roy said, scooping up some more eggs.

Joanne waited a beat longer, until the exact perfect moment.

"Ammunition," she said, turning the page to January, holding the calendar carefully away from Roy.

Coffee spewed across the table, but didn't quite reach the treasure in Joanne's hands.

"Holy _crap_," Roy said, once he'd caught his breath.

The photos showed a young—_very_ young, really almost _too_ young—Chet Kelly, in a variety of poses. Mustache free—in fact, Roy thought, he looked so young he probably couldn't have grown a decent one yet.

"Ho … ly … crap," Roy repeated.

He inspected the photos, looking carefully at the background.

"That's Station 23," Roy said. "For sure. That's where he did his probie year. He went to the academy right out of high school, so he woulda been, what, nineteen?"

Joanne nodded. "That was about my guess, too."

Roy snickered, in a way that Joanne wasn't quite sure she'd ever heard before, but found pleasing.

"The years," Roy said, "have not been particularly kind. I mean, in this picture, he's … well, I don't know the right word. But what would you ladies say?"

"Besides unexpected?" Joanne asked. "Because … well, not that I'd actually pictured, uh, anyone, like this, but he's so …"

"Uh huh?" Roy said, dying to hear what words she'd come up with.

"Buff?" Joanne said. "Studly? H—"

"Stop!" Roy said. "Forget I asked. Just … stop."

Joanne stopped. "Now," she said. "Don't you think we should see if Mike would like to join us for supper tonight?"

"Yeah," Roy said. "And if he asks what he can bring, tell him eye bleach. Brain bleach. Some kind of … really strong bleach. For unseeing things."

"Oh, I don't think this is going to get _un_seen," Joanne said. "I think it's gonna get _more_ seen."

**TBC**

**A/N: **Yes, I am a horrible person. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**January Surprise: Chapter 3**

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At 6 p.m. sharp, the DeSotos' doorbell rang. Normally, one of the children would have rushed to the front door to usher in one of their beloved "uncles" from Station 51, but tonight, Joanne and Roy had arranged for them to have dinner with friends. It wouldn't be fair to poor Mike to invite him over to see something so truly spectacular, and then make him wait until after the kids' bedtime to see it.

Joanne opened the door, and Mike handed her a bottle of wine.

"Thought this might go better with dinner than the eye bleach," he said.

Joanne laughed, and ushered Mike in.

"Hey, Mike," Roy said.

"So. Question of the day: what the heck is going on?" Mike asked.

"Honey, let's not make him wait," Joanne said. "We have to show him now. But let's go to the living room, because, really, Mike, you'll want to be sitting down for this."

"O … kay," Mike said, but he sat in the chair offered to him.

Roy started pulling the calendar out of the cardboard tube, into which he and Joanne had replaced it, so they could hide it from the kids without damaging it.

"This," Roy said, "is going to make your day. It's a little ammo you can use, for some revenge for having to change your uniform three times last shift."

"I can get three or four more copies for sure," Joanne added, as Roy finally pulled the item from the tube.

Roy didn't waste any time—he smoothed the calendar out on the coffee table, and flipped immediately to the January page.

Mike leaned toward the table, and his eyes bugged out of his head. He moved closer to the picture, as if to double-check that he was seeing what—or rather, _who_—he thought he was seeing, and then swiftly retreated. He rubbed his eyes, in a caricature of someone who wasn't sure of what he'd seen, and looked again.

"Whoa," he said, as he sat back in his chair, looking slightly drained. "I see what you mean about eye bleach. Or … a brain eraser. Or something."

"Ammunition, though, wouldn't you say?" Roy said.

"Unquestionably. It also backs up something a guy told me about when I was subbing at another station, though," Mike said, gesturing at the calendar, as if there were any doubt what he was talking about. "I mean, I didn't actually believe the guy at the time, but boy, now I do."

"What's that?" Roy said.

"Well, you know how Kelly has these phases? Where he's heavily into something for a little while, and drives the rest of us completely bats?"

"Uh huh," Roy said, "and I think I see where you're going with this."

"Yep. The guy at … huh, I think it was 47s, but I'm not sure—anyhow, he asked me if Kelly was still at our station, and was he still so heavily into the bodybuilding thing," Mike said.

"Which you knew nothing about," Roy finished for him.

"Right. So I just kind of, you know, played along politely, and said I hadn't heard about that. And the guy—you know, I think he was at the station where Chet did his probie year, because we also talked about how Chet got to be such a joker. Anyhow, he launched into this whole story about how when he knew Kelly, he was crazy into this Mr. Olympia bodybuilding program," Mike continued.

Joanne chimed in. "Wow, that's like, what's-his-name, that Austrian guy, right? Arnold something?"

"And you know this … why?" Roy asked, eyebrows raised.

"Well, I … pay attention," Joanne said vaguely. "But—go on, Mike—then what?"

"I was sure the guy had Kelly mixed up with someone else, but now? I actually believe him," Mike said. "And the funny thing is, I told that guy about how Chet had gotten into vitamins, and yoga, and skiing, and I don't think _he_ believed_ me_."

"Kelly does have a way of kind of going all-out on his latest interest," Roy said.

"And I can see how if you're, I don't know, maybe not the tallest guy in your high school class … that you could kind of want to … compensate. You know?" Mike said.

Roy nodded. "Well, we know he played football in high school, so maybe that's how he got into that stuff. But … I don't know—it's kind of not like him to stick with something long enough to … get results."

"Plus," Mike said, and paused. "Never mind."

"No, what?" Joanne said. "You can't say 'plus' in that tone and then not go on."

"She's got a point, there, Stoker," Roy said.

Mike sighed. "_Plus_," he said dramatically, "he had to have put an awful lot of effort into shaving his chest."

There was a moment of silence as everyone in the room contemplated what Mike said.

"See, now I wish I hadn't made you say it," Roy said.

A bell rang in the kitchen.

"On that note, dinner's ready," Joanne said. "Everyone … just shake it off."

"Our job at dinner is going to be to figure out the best way to fire this ammunition," Roy said.

Mike nodded, as they went to the dining room.

"I kind of have some ideas about that," he said.

**TBC**

A/N: Don't worry, Chet fans; he'll come out of this juuuuuuuust fine.


	4. Chapter 4

**January Surprise: Chapter 4**

"This is great, Jo," Roy said. "Artichokes, even!"

"Well, you know. I can't _not_ make those on special occasions any more—not after that quiz show! But gentlemen—we have some planning to do, correct?" Joanne said.

Mike wiped his mouth with a napkin before speaking. "The way I see it," he said, "the initial reveal needs to be (a), completely public, and (b), everyone has to see it at once."

"True," Roy said. "Wouldn't have nearly the desired effect if the guys stumbled upon it one at a time. Do you have any ideas about how to work that out?"

Mike grinned. "Do I ever! It'll kinda depend on getting in a little early before the next shift, though. And it's also a lucky thing that C-shift is on today, so we'll be taking over for B-shift. Because we gotta make sure that B-shift's captain is out of the office for a few minutes, and it'll be a lot easier and less risky to try to distract Captain Dodd than Captain Hookrader. If you can handle the distraction, then I can handle the rest."

"Well, you know, anyone can distract Captain Dodd any time by starting up a conversation about stamps. I'll just have to rustle up an interesting-looking stamp, and he'll be all over it," Roy said.

"The MacPhersons just got back from Europe," Joanne said. "I bet they'll have something you can use."

"Perfect!" Mike said. "I'll just have to get into the office for about three minutes to set up the main event. After everyone's seen … _it_ … all at once, and we plant a few more copies in amusing places, just to keep things going, I have a feeling us guys will take care of old Chester pretty handily. He'll regret even _thinking_ about water-bombing me."

"They always say you have to watch out for the quiet ones," Joanne said. "And I sure wish I could be a fly on the wall at Station 51 on your next shift. It seems unfair, somehow, that I found this, but I don't get to see it in action."

"I'll make sure you get a full report," Roy assured her. "And besides, you know Johnny will tell all."

"Speaking of which," Joanne said, "do you think he ought to be in on this?"

Roy looked at Mike. "I dunno, I think it oughta be up to Mike, since it's his revenge."

Mike looked up into the corner of the room for a moment. "No," he said, a slow grin forming on his face. "I actually think it'll be just as fun to see what _his_ face looks like at the main event as it does to see Kelly's."

"And … what's the main event going to be, actually?" Roy asked. "The casual observer notes that you haven't quite mentioned that."

Mike crossed his arms on his chest and smirked.

"You'll see."

~!~!~!~

_Two days later, 0730, Station 51_.

Roy arrived at the station earlier than was typical for him. But there was a job to be done, and he was ready for his role. Mike was waiting for him in the parking lot, holding a familiar cardboard tube.

"Good news," Mike said. "Station's empty. So this'll be a piece of cake."

"Great," Roy said. "You need a hand?"

Mike shook his head. "You and Joanne gave me a surprise I'll remember forever, so I thought I'd return the favor. I mean, unless you don't _want_ to be surprised."

"I'll stick with knowing _what's_ coming, but not when or where," Roy said.

"In that case, just stay out here, and keep anyone else out of the building for a couple minutes."

"Can do," Roy replied.

Mike looked behind him, as if there could possibly be anyone watching, and then darted furtively into the building. Roy shook his head, thinking it was a good thing Mike never tried for a life of crime, because he'd be terrible at it.

Roy sat on the hood of his sports car, and waited for an all-clear signal from Mike. After only a few seconds, a dark sedan pulled into the lot, and parked next to Roy.

_Shit, shit, shit!_ Roy thought. _Of all the lousy timing!_

"Good morning, Cap," Roy said, as Hank Stanley unfolded himself from his Oldsmobile. "How's it going?"

"Just fine—and yourself?" Cap asked.

"Good, good," Roy said, moving himself between Cap and the back door of the station.

Cap raised his eyebrows, and looked towards the station and back again. "Something going on in there that I'm not supposed to know about?" he asked.

"What? No! I, uh, just wondered if you could take a look at something real quick, as long as we're out here," Roy said. His eyes darted around the parking lot, looking for a suitable diversion.

"Okay … what'd you have in mind?"

"Well … you see …" A light bulb went on in Roy's head. "It's my car. It's making this weird noise. Here, lemme start it up, and see if you can figure out where it's coming from."

"Sure," Cap said, standing in front of the Porsche. "These foreign jobs can be more trouble than they're worth."

Roy started the engine, and Cap leaned down towards the hood. He moved to one side, then the other, and shook his head.

"I don't hear anything, DeSoto," he said.

Roy revved the engine. "How about now? Sometimes it happens after I accelerate."

Cap listened again, and as Roy watched, he saw Mike peer out from the doorway and give a thumbs-up signal.

Roy stuck his head out the window.

"I don't think it's gonna make the noise," he said, and shut the engine off.

"Well, that's the way these things go," Cap said, thumping Roy on the shoulder. "It never makes the noise when you actually _want_ someone to hear it, right?"

"Right," Roy said, hoping his voice wasn't shaking.

Cap didn't seem to notice. "Well, I see Stoker's here. Hopefully he's made the coffee already; I could really use a cup," he said.

Sure enough, Mike was in the kitchen, putting a fresh pot of coffee on to percolate.

"Hey Cap, hey DeSoto," he said.

"Mornin'," Cap said. "What's B-shift got?"

"Oh, I, uh, didn't look at the logbook," Mike said.

"Really? I'll go check, then," Cap said, as he left the room.

Mike waited till Cap was out of earshot. "Guess I shoulda checked. Oh well. You think he suspects anything?"

"Well … I felt like an idiot trying to distract him with some noise my car wasn't making, but I don't think so."

"Good," Mike said. "I got my thing done."

"What thing?" Cap asked, as he returned to the kitchen. "And B-shift's been out for twenty on an unknown problem."

"My favorite," Roy said.

"And Mike, sounds like you got something done on your days off?" Cap said, not one to let things slide.

"Oh, uh, just a yardwork project," Mike said, fumbling to think of something that wasn't a total lie. "Took out a sapling that wasn't in a good spot."

"Ah. Anyhow—we'll have an easy start to the morning. If you'll recall, we've got our annual required viewing of the department's public relations protocol slide show," Cap said.

"Ah—how not to be a jerk to the citizens," Mike said. "Delightful. If I recall, it's a pretty boring show."

"Makes up for it by being short, though," Cap said. He tapped on the percolator. "C'mon, you. Hurry up."

Just then, the commotion of B-shift's engine crew arriving with Engine 51 interrupted Cap's pot-watching. The engine was dusty on the top and spattered with mud along the bottom, so Roy and Mike hosed it down, while two of the B-shift men squeegeed the water out onto the apron. By the time they were done, it was shift change time, and the rest of the A-shift crew had arrived.

Roll call was the usual pro forma occasion, with Cap handing out daily assignments.

"And now, we're all going to the day room, and we're going to politely sit through our annual viewing of the PR slide show," Cap said, concluding their informal morning meeting. "Kelly, you wanna give me a hand with the AV equipment?"

"Sure thing, Cap," Chet said.

Roy noticed Mike biting his lip, and knew the beginning of the revenge was close at hand.

Chet set up the tripod legs and pole of the projector screen, while Cap fiddled with the slide projector.

"All right, Kelly. Raise that screen up, will ya?" Cap said.

Chet grasped the D-ring at the top of the rolled-up screen, and hoisted it up to the hook at the top of the stand. And there, in the middle of the screen, was January's Man At Work.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**January Surprise: Chapter 5**

At first, there was silence.

Utter, complete silence, the likes of which had never before been experienced in Station 51's day room.

Captain Stanley was the first to speak. Sort of.

"Uh … oh …" he uttered.

Johnny, though, took up the slack.

"Woo hoo hoo!" he chortled. "Now _that's_ some PR! Chester B. Kelly, you've been holding out on us!"

"For about ten years, it looks like," Marco said, squinting at the pictures and then backing away. "What were you _thinking_?"

"Um …" Chet said. He was blushing furiously, practically lighting the room with his bright red glow.

"What I always wondered," Mike said, "is why the nickname for 'Chester' is 'Chet.' It really oughta be 'Chest.'"

"At least we know what the 'B.' is for, now," Roy said.

"Please, DeSoto, grace us with your explanation," Cap said. He was determined to enjoy the moment, but knew he couldn't be an instigator.

"Babyface." Roy answered.

"Or 'Brawn,'" Marco said. "What the heck happened between then and now, Kelly?"

Chet stood silently for a few seconds. "They said they weren't going to _use_ it," he muttered, as if talking to himself.

"Looks like they changed their minds," Johnny said. "And what the heck _did_ happen?"

"Aw, c'mon, guys! It was a _phase_! I have these phases, you know?" Chet said. "And, well, the bodybuilding phase was a long time ago."

"A _really_ long time ago," Mike said, in a tone low enough to be heard only by his immediate neighbors, which happened to include Chet.

"It's a lot of work!" Chet said, determined to defend himself. "_You_ try it sometime!"

"All right, everyone; settle down," Captain Stanley said. The moment was rapidly losing its charm. "We still have to get through this slide show, you know." He untaped the calendar page from the projector screen.

"I think I'll take that," Chet said, holding out his hand.

"Suit yourself," Cap said, rolling up the page and handing it to Chet, like a relay runner passing the baton.

"But Cap," Johnny said.

"But what?" Cap said. "I'm sure as heck not gonna give it to _you_. Besides, I bet you have plenty more where _that_ came from, if I know you."

"I don't … what? It wasn't _me!_" Johnny protested loudly.

"Uh huh," Chet said. "Sure it wasn't, Gage. _Sure_ it wasn't."

"It wasn't!" Johnny said again. "Roy, tell him it wasn't me!"

Roy had a quick and silent debate with himself. While he wished Johnny hadn't dragged him into this, it was only fair to be honest.

"It wasn't him," Roy said. "And that's all I have to say about this. Cap, let's watch that slide show, huh?"

"Yes, let's do that," Cap said. "I don't wanna hear another word about this until the show is over, capisce?"

Nobody dared say a word, but nods, reluctant and otherwise, were seen around the room.

Cap started the projector, and turned the day room lights off. The show started, with a slide of an action shot taken at a structure fire.

"_The mission of the Los Angeles County Fire Department is to save lives_," the voice droned. The projector automatically clicked to the next slide—another dramatic shot. "_And protect property_."

"_We're good at our jobs. In 1967 alone, we estimate that over six hundred lives were saved by our men._" A photo of a civilian being led from a smoke-filled structure appeared.

"Nineteen sixty seven," someone muttered into the darkness. "Good grief."

"_But there's more to the job than those most important tasks. Community relations, be it public education, or simply public kindness—_" an eye-rolling photo appeared. of a smiling firefighter, oddly attired in a Class-A uniform while putting a band-aid on a child's knee— "_go a long way towards showing our community that we care. The citizens of our community are our taxpayers, and our customers._" A woman in an apron shook a fireman's hand, while a smoking pot languished in the yard.

"_We must each put our best foot forward, on any given day, to demonstrate that we are pillars of our community._" The projector changed photos again, and this time, an enlargement of the bare-chested, kitten-bearing Chet Kelly calendar shot flashed to the screen.

"_People the taxpayers can count on, to get the job done._" The words were almost unheard over the howls of laughter that accompanied a slide showing Chet in his sultry bedtime pose.

The room erupted in laughter and other sounds. Even Roy, who had seen the photo several times before, and Mike, who had perpetrated the prank, were doubled over in laughter.

The automatic show continued, ignored by its captive audience, until Captain Stanley ended the spectacle, literally unplugging the projector.

"All right—I think whoever you are, you've made your point. If there's anything else in this projector that doesn't belong there, now's your chance to take it out," Cap said, looking around the room.

Chet sat sullenly; it obviously wasn't him. Roy had absolved Johnny of any wrongdoing, and Cap was inclined to believe him. Marco … he'd never pulled a prank in his life, as far as Cap could tell.

That left the two least likely suspects: Roy, who tended to stay out of the Phantom/Pigeon dynamics as well as he could, and … Stoker?

It had to be him, Cap realized. And Roy was in on it, somehow. That nonsense in the parking lot had to have something to do with this.

Cap shook his head. _What's this world coming to_, he thought, as he continued the show.

Nobody paid any attention at all.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**January Surprise: Chapter 6**

When the show was over—and it had indeed been a show to remember—Hank Stanley turned off the projector's light, leaving the fan running to cool things down. He wished he had a fan he could use to cool his men down, after the surprise someone had inserted into the normally dry LACoFD Public Relations slide show.

He picked through the slides, lifting the first few out of the carousel until he found the two he needed to remove.

"These," he announced, holding the items up, "are now confiscated. And whoever took the original slides out needs to have them back in the carousel by lights out. Are we clear?"

Everyone nodded.

"Okay, everyone; let's get to the chores. It's been an eventful morning, but I'm confident that we can all rise to the task of making this shift happen smoothly," Cap said.

"Smooth as a freshly shaved chest," Johnny said, earning a punch in the arm from Chet.

The squad was toned out midway through the morning chores, to a situation where they were completely unnecessary. On their return trip, Roy thought of the sprained wrist call that had made him get home late at the end of his last shift, which then reminded him of the moment where he first saw Mr. January. He must have chuckled slightly, because Johnny's attention was on him instantly.

"That was pretty awesome this morning," Johnny said. "And for some reason, I have this sneaking feeling that you, Mr. Innocent, might actually be more than a tad guilty this time."

"Hey, I got you off the hook," Roy said. "And that's all I have to say about the matter."

"Oh, c'mon, Roy! You didn't even take a second look at those pictures—so I know you had to have seen 'em already. So fess up!"

Johnny had a point, Roy realized. But he'd been sworn to secrecy by Mike, so he'd just have to let Johnny figure it out on his own.

"Sorry, pal. No can do," he said.

"A_ha_!" Johnny shouted, so loudly that Roy swerved the squad slightly. "So you admit it—you know who's behind this! Which means it's either Marco, or Mike. And I can't really see either one of them pulling this off. I mean, who even _found_ those pictures? I mean, I guess it's from one of those firemen calendars, but where would a guy even _see_ something like that? They're kind of for the ladies."

Roy stayed silent, and kept the squad moving in a straight line.

"And I tell ya, Roy, that gives me new respect for the ladies. You always think they're all, I don't know, prim and proper, and … well, I mean, can you even _imagine_ Joanne having one of those calendars?"

The squad swerved again, just a tiny, tiny bit.

"Anyhow," Johnny continued, ignoring Roy's silence. "It's gotta be either Marco or Mike. I'll have it figured out by the end of the shift anyhow, you know. So you'll save me a lot of trouble if you just tell Uncle Johnny who done it."

"Fat chance," Roy said. "Say, maybe you could team up with Chet to figure it out? He could probably use a pal around now."

Truth be told, Roy was feeling ever so slightly guilty about the whole thing. Chet certainly had done his fair share of pranks to others, but there was something about this one that was just a little more … personal.

But Johnny laughed. "No way, man! Pretty much no matter who's behind this thing, I'd say ol' Chester had it coming to him. Partly for all the pranks he's pulled on everyone around here—and wasn't it amazing the other day how he actually got Stoker riled up?—and partly because he posed for that picture in the first place!"

Once again, Roy realized, Johnny did have a point. Nearly everyone at the station had been affected by their resident prankster, and while it was all in good fun, Chet had been asking for some serious payback for years. Furthermore, Roy thought, everyone did things in their youth that could someday come back to haunt them, and Chet was just one of the unlucky ones. He allowed himself another grin, this time recalling Marco's stunned but then gleeful reaction to the Big Reveal, as Roy was now mentally referring to the moment that the projector screen rose.

He'd have to ask Mike how he got the pictures put onto projector slides—that was a really, really nice touch.

After a few minutes of contemplation, Roy realized that Johnny had gone quiet.

"Now what?" Roy asked, as if Johnny's silence was somehow more annoying than the ranting he'd just completed.

"Roy, I just realized something! I mean … holy crap, Roy!"

"If you could maybe be a little less specific, I might never figure out what you're talking about."

"I _think_," Johnny said dramatically, "that it was Stoker! Of all people! Because in all the drama of the morning, I'd completely and totally forgotten about how bad Chet got him last shift! It was brilliant, really—to just hit 'im with the good ol' water bombs—because you just don't _do_ that to the quiet guy, ya know?"

"Hmm," Roy said, sure that Johnny would make up for his silence.

"That's it! That's gotta be _it!_ And come to think of it, he didn't take a closer look at those pictures either. So it musta been him! And, he musta been hanging on to that picture for a long, long time, just waiting for the exact right moment to let 'er rip. Don'tcha think?"

"I guess," Roy said. "But …"

"But what?"

Roy realized, suddenly, that he didn't actually remember whether the picture that had been planted on the projector screen had a year on it. If he completed his sentence, with the intention of proving that Stoker couldn't have been holding on to the item, waiting silently for the perfect moment of revenge, he could be revealing himself as an actor in the play if the Big Reveal picture hadn't had the year on it. And there was no way to check, now that the page was in Chet's possession.

"Never mind," Roy said, knowing as he uttered those two words that they were futile, because John Gage didn't just let things go.

"Now Roy," Johnny said. "You oughta know me well enough by now to know that—"

BEEP BEEP BEEP!

The mobile radio heralded an incoming call. Roy swore to himself that he'd be grateful for the diversion even if it turned out to be an unknown problem—his least favorite.

"_Squad 51, unknown medical problem, at the pizza parlor, 2893 North Shore Drive; 2-8-9-3 North Shore Drive, cross street Lincoln. Time out: 0917._"

It just figured.

They arrived on scene, to find a man doubled up in pain. He had the sweaty upper lip and labored breathing of someone in severe discomfort, but not the grayish pallor of shock.

"Sir, can you tell us what happened?" Roy said, as Johnny started setting up equipment.

The man couldn't speak, but his wife was more than happy to help out.

"He chugged a 64-ounce soda, is what happened," she said, "and now he thinks he's having a heart attack. What I say, is that he needs to quit his whining and just—"

The man interrupted his wife with an enormous belch—the kind every ten-year-old boy around the world aspired to. If the man had been trying to get through the alphabet, even at a reasonable speed he would've gotten through "LMNOP."

"—belch," the woman finished. She was clearly not one to let someone else get the last word in.

The man clutched at his midsection, and heaved out another tremendous burp, with which he could have completed the alphabet, were he so inclined.

"Excuse me," he finished.

Johnny and Roy watched as the man straightened up and took a few deep breaths.

"I think I'm okay, actually," the fellow said. "Sorry to call you out here for nothing."

"Well, if you thought you were having a heart attack, calling us was the right thing to do," Roy said.

"You sure you don't want us to check you out?" Johnny asked.

"Yeah." The man stifled another burp, unsuccessfully.

"I swear, Tony," the woman said.

Johnny and Roy went through the instructions they always gave patients who decided they didn't need treatment. Sometimes, they really wished people who were declining help would consent to treatment and transport, but this time they felt confident that when they left the scene, nothing terrible would happen.

They returned to the station, and Roy backed the squad into the apparatus bay. Johnny got out of the passenger's side of the squad just in time to see Mike coming out of the cab of the engine—the back, not the front.

"Caught in the act," Johnny said, rubbing his hands together in glee.

"Shh!" Mike said, in a hissing whisper. "Just … forget you ever saw me."

"I knew it was you!" Johnny said, in a jubilant stage whisper. "I _knew_ it!"

"Okay, okay! It was me! Now shut up, or you'll ruin the next part," Stoker said, hiding the roll of tape behind his back.

"That was priceless, Stoker! Absolutely, completely priceless!" Johnny exclaimed, still whispering.

"Well, you should've seen the look on your face," Mike said. "That was pretty priceless, too."

"How about Chet?" Johnny asked. "I was too busy having my own hysterics to even see what he was doing."

Mike pointed at the floor of the bay. "First, he turned that color." He pointed to the engine. "And then, _that_ color. Also pretty priceless. But seriously, we gotta shut up."

"Okay, okay, shutting up!" Johnny said. "What's next, though?"

"You'll see," Mike said.

"Oh, c'mon," Johnny said.

"Actually," Mike said, frowning, "you won't, I guess, since you don't ride the engine. And neither will I, since there's no rear-view mirror."

"You'll hear, though," Johnny said, grinning. He stuck his head into the cab, and cackled quietly. "Oh yeah, you'll _definitely_ hear."

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry for the long delay. I moved, and was without internet for a while, plus my muse got packed in a box accidentally. But here's an update.

**January Surprise: Chapter 7**

Morning at the station was a tense time. The engine hadn't had any runs all morning, and it was all Cap could do to keep the peace—especially after a photocopy of the pose with the kitten appeared on the inside of the door of the bathroom stall, and another inside a kitchen cabinet.

The weather was miserable, with heavy rain and the occasional clap of thunder, so there wasn't the usual option of sending someone outside to put some distance between the men. Cap thought the station had never seemed smaller, and almost hoped for a call, just so everyone could think about something else for a little while.

Lunch was an uncharacteristically sullen affair at Station 51 that day. Marco tried asking Chet about his body-building phase, but didn't end up lifting his mood.

"Look, I quit for a reason, all right? It's not just the hours a day of lifting, but you can't eat hardly anything that's any good, either. Egg whites, and chicken breast, and vegetables," Chet said, talking around a gigantic bite of hamburger. "Plus, with being a fireman, I couldn't keep up the training without just being exhausted all the time."

"Nobody's criticizing, Chet," Mike said mildly.

Chet ignored him. He had figured out that either Stoker or DeSoto must have been responsible for the slide-show edits, and was making a production of snubbing both of them.

"They said they weren't going to use them," Chet muttered to himself, for what must have been the hundredth time that day.

The meal was completely consumed, and Mike managed to finish the dishes just as the tones dropped.

BWAAAAMP, BWOOM BWEEEEEEP!

"_Station 51, Engine 116, Station 127; stove fire, 1840 Pleasant Hollow Drive, 1-8-4-0 Pleasant Hollow Drive, cross street Milagro. Time out: 1251._"

The men headed to their vehicles. Mike grabbed his turnout coat from his seat, and threw it on. He was just stepping into the cab when he heard the first comment from behind him.

"Oh, come _on!_ This is getting really, really old!"

Mike cracked a small grin as he thought about the chill of the previous shift's water bombs, and started the engine, drowning out any further commentary. He would have to imagine what he knew would happen next, but that was good enough.

Marco, however, could both see and hear perfectly. Taped to the glass window that divided the front of the cab from the rear was the calendar photo where an under-aged-looking Chet was wielding an axe, flexing his abdominal and pectoral muscles to full effect.

Predictably, Chet leaned forward to rip the page down, crumpling it furiously.

He stopped in mid-crumple, however. Behind the page he had ripped down was an identical photo. He swiped his hand across the glass to rip it down as well.

Nothing happened.

Marco couldn't suppress a snort as he realized that the perpetrator had taped the second copy against the other side of the window, where Chet couldn't touch it.

Chet swore a blue streak, knowing there was nothing he could do about the calendar page until they were completely done with their incident. He slouched in his seat, watching the scenery go by, the pouring rain washing away everything except his foul mood. And the picture.

Marco didn't bother trying to say anything—the air rushing past the engine, plus the sound of the siren and the additional noise of heavy rain pounding on the roof of the cab made any attempts at speech pointless.

They arrived at their street, and Mike paused at a hydrant near the corner. Marco hopped out and looped the supply line around the hydrant, and Mike took off down the street, putting the engine just the right distance from the front door of the house. Marco could see light smoke coming from the house, but not the thick black smoke that spelled serious trouble. He uncapped the hydrant, connected the hose, and opened the valve at Mike's signal. Once the supply line was turgid, Marco trotted to the scene. He was glad to see Chet heading into the front door with an inch-and-a-half—maybe being on the nozzle and putting out the fire would calm him down.

"Marco, go on in with Chet," Cap said.

Roy and John were just getting out of the squad as Marco got to the scene. There were two young women out in the pouring rain.

"Is there anyone else in there?" Johnny asked, just cinching up his SCBA straps.

"No," one of the women said, voice shaking. "It was just the two of us, like we told the tall guy. I don't know what could've happened! All of a sudden the stove was on fire, and the flames started climbing up the wall!"

"Okay, all right," Johnny said. "Take it easy. Let's get you out of the rain, all right? We'll just step into the cab of the fire engine, here, and me an' my partner'll just make sure you're completely okay."

Johnny and Roy helped the two women climb up into the rear of the cab. They each folded down one of the jump seats that faced the regular seats.

Johnny, the avid observer of female behavior that he was, noticed the two women look at each other slightly askance. The one with the dark hair, who was sitting in front of Roy, laughed nervously. The blonde, in front of Johnny, covered her perfectly-lipsticked mouth with her hand, giggling.

"Are you okay, miss?" Johnny asked. The two young ladies showed every sign of a bit of a nervous breakdown, as far as he was concerned, with their sudden shift from near-panic to a fit of the giggles.

"We are now," the woman in front of him said. "Boy, you sure know how to make a girl feel right at home!"

Johnny frowned lightly. "Huh?"

The blonde woman pointed at a spot right between Roy's and John's heads.

"Him," she said, as Johnny and Roy turned to look simultaneously.

Johnny couldn't suppress a laugh. "Yeah, well, that's one of our guys. In fact, he oughta be just about done puttin' out the fire in your kitchen right about now."

The woman's eyes bugged out of her head.

"_He's_ … in our house? Putting out _our_ fire?"

"Now, take it easy; he's perfectly all right once you get to know him," Johnny said. "I mean, _mostly_ all right. Don't you worry about a thing."

The woman squealed, the sharpness of the sound causing Johnny to involuntarily pull back. He winced as the long rear brim of his helmet clanged against the divider.

"Sharon!" she shrieked. "Ohmygod, ohmygod! Did you _hear_ that? Mister January is in our kitchen! Right now!"

Sharon squealed right back at her friend, stomping her feet on the floor of the cab in excitement.

"Ohmygod, we're gonna, like, _meet_ him!"

Roy looked at Johnny, who shook his head.

"I think you ladies are probably okay," Roy said, putting away the pen light he'd gotten out from his utility belt. "I think my partner and I oughta go see what we can do to help out inside."

"What's his name?" the blonde woman asked. "Is he a real fireman? How old is he?"

"Duh, Tracy; of _course_ he's a real fireman, or he wouldn't've just dragged a hose into our kitchen," Sharon said.

"Wow …" Tracy breathed. She sighed, staring at the picture.

Johnny had to shake his head quickly to rid himself of the disbelief, and, when he was honest with himself, a mild feeling of discomfort at the situation. It was one thing for men to ogle the ladies, but the reverse just made him feel a little tiny bit—just a teensy smidgen—not quite right.

"For cryin' out loud," he muttered to himself, as he swung himself down from the high cab.

"I wonder if we can get our picture taken with him," Johnny heard, just as his feet hit the ground.

Johnny shook his head again, and met up with Roy at the back of the engine.

"Looks like Chet's got a fan club," Roy said.

"Yeah, well, I hope they're not too disappointed when they meet the real thing," Johnny said, on their way to see Cap about an assignment."Which they seem determined to do."

"Where do you want us, Cap?" Roy asked.

"Well, it was a quick knock-down, so we're about ready to overhaul and salvage. Not that bringing anything outside the house is gonna help it any on a day like this. But it shouldn't take too long," he said. "And I'm assuming the occupants are okay?"

"Oh, they're fine, Cap. Just fine," Johnny said, grinning broadly. "We stashed them in the cab of the engine to keep 'em out of the rain."

"And this is funny … why?" Cap asked.

"Because," Johnny said, striking a pose with an imaginary axe, "Mr. January is plastered on the window."

"Oh boy," Cap muttered. "Kelly's gonna kill … whoever did that." He squinted at Roy and John. "Roy, are you absolutely sure that Gage had nothing to do with this?"

"Absolutely sure," Roy said.

"Honest, Cap. My hands are clean," Johnny said.

"I'm coming to a conclusion here that I don't know if I actually believe," Cap said, shaking his head. "Go on, you two. Let's get this thing mopped up."

Cap radioed in a status report, and glanced back at the engine. Mike was quietly tending the pump panel, as always, looking a bit bored, because there really wasn't much that was interesting for the pump operator during overhaul. Cap watched as Mike picked at a spot of something on the engine, and then swiped his sleeve over the area. It was hard to believe that Mike, who was quiet sometimes to the point that Cap wondered whether everything was completely okay in his head, was the one who'd engineered the morning's entertainment.

Cap laughed at the verb his mind had chosen. He knew perfectly well that behind the quiet exterior, the engineering engineer was wickedly smart, and had a sense of humor that Cap sometimes didn't entirely understand. Chet had picked the wrong guy to water bomb.

Feeling ever so slightly sorry for Chet, Cap decided to check on their unhappy displaced residents. They'd been beside themselves when the engine first arrived, even though Cap assured them they'd make quick work of extinguishing such a small fire.

As he approached the engine, he heard talking.

"How old do you suppose the picture is? I mean, I wonder if he's, like, thirty now," Sharon said.

"Heck, Sharon, I don't care! I kind of like older men. And even this young, he's just so … dreamy," Tracy said.

Cap's substantial eyebrows rose. He didn't want to barge in on this apparent fan club, but he also didn't think he could sneak away at this point. Plus, as the PR slideshow—the real one—had reminded him that very morning, part of his job as the incident commander was to communicate with the residents, now that the incident was stabilized.

"Are you ladies okay in here?" Cap asked.

"Oh, we're just fine, sir, thank you," Tracy said, "now that we know that Mr. January is taking care of things."

"I hope he's not offended if he sees our calendar," Sharon said.

Cap looked even more surprised than he had a moment ago.

"You mean … you have this … thing? In your house?"

"Well, it's not really our house—and oh, I hope the landlord doesn't kill us, but he probably will. But a lot of the girls we know at the university have it. It's a benefit for the animal shelter, and we're vet students, so … your Mr. January is pretty famous right now. I can't wait to actually meet him!" Tracy exclaimed. She looked at Cap's face, and backpedaled a bit. "I mean, if that's okay. I'm sure you're really busy."

"I think that could be arranged," Cap said slowly, feeling progressively less sorry for Chet. "In fact, he's just about due for a new air bottle, and we've got more than enough manpower for such a small overhaul job. So how about if I send him your way?"

"Would you really? That might even make this whole thing not seem so horrible," Tracy said. "But … but … I look terrible! I know I got some smoke in my hair, and when I tried to use that fire extinguisher it got all over the place!"

"Tracy, I bet he's seen worse," Sharon said dryly.

"I'll send him over," Cap promised, as he exited the cab.

Cap headed back to the front of the house, just as Chet was exiting.

"Chet, pal, I've got a new task for you," Cap said.

"Sure, Cap—I need a new bottle, though. Could you swap me in a new one?" Chet said, turning his back to let Cap at the empty bottle in his air pack.

"No need," Cap said. "I've got a little exterior work for you."

"Fine by me," Chet said, starting to pull his pack off. "Whaddaya need?"

"PR," Cap said, pointing to the engine.

Chet looked at the engine, and reddened as he realized there were two women in the back of the cab. Right where the picture was.

"Aw, Cap—c'mon. That's just not fair," Chet complained.

"Actually, I think you'll find it more than fair," Cap said. "You see, it seems that you have a fan club."

Chet paused for a moment.

"No kidding?"

"No kidding," Cap assured him. "They're dying to meet you. The blonde, in particular. It seems you're quite famous in their social circle."

Chet smiled for the first time since the projector screen went up that morning. "Well, then, I better go greet the public, then," he said. He checked his appearance in one of the side mirrors on the squad. He swiped his hand across the shoulder of his coat, and then across his forehead, applying an artful smear of soot, and turned toward the engine, with a spring in his step.

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: A freaky coincidence: as I was working on this chapter, we got toned out (a full structure fire assignment) for a stove fire, which turned out to be an electrical fire inside the stove. Then, before the engine even finished pulling into the station, we got toned out _again_, for an actual fire on top of a stove. Luckily they were both minor and there was little damage and no injuries, but it was really a little freakish. Now, back to our irregularly scheduled chapter.

.

**January Surprise: Chapter 8**

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Chet approached the engine. His steps slowed as he realized he had no idea what to say to the two young women that Captain Stanley was sending him to talk to. He stopped at the back of the engine, and opened a compartment he didn't need anything from, just to look like he was doing something.

"We have a car wreck I haven't heard about?" Stoker asked from the pump panel, peering at the compartment Chet had opened, which contained stabilization blocks and various rescue tools that might be used at a vehicle accident.

"Can it, Stoker," Chet said. He fiddled with the strap holding the Jaws in place as he thought.

"Well, hello, ladies," he said under his breath, and shook his head immediately. "Moronic, Kelly. Positively moronic."

"How can I help you today?" he rehearsed, and cringed. "Damn it, I'm a fireman, not a waiter. Plus, I _already_ helped them. By putting out their fire. Okay, okay, Kelly; think."

He thought about what Cap had said, and then he had it. "PR!" he said aloud. "That's it! Just be polite, and honest, and nice, and … well, shoot, they probably don't actually know how bad their house is right now, so I'll have to break that to them. So much for the fan club," he said glumly.

Chet shoved the roll-out tray holding the rescue tool back into the compartment, and slammed the compartment shut. He had no choice but to go past the pump panel, but thoroughly ignored Stoker's raised eyebrows as he passed.

He straightened his lapels, put a foot up on the diamond-plate running board, and stepped up into the cab of the engine, with his back to the calendar picture that had wreaked havoc on his day.

Two young women were sitting in the cab. They looked over at him as he pulled down the jump seat and sat down.

Before Chet could open his mouth to begin his public relations spiel, the blonde woman spoke up.

"It's _you_! It's really you! It's so amazing! We've been looking at you on our wall since New Year's Day … and you put out our fire, and now we're _talking_ to you!"

"Well, here I am," Chet said, grinning slightly. "Ten years later, and I'll be honest, I quit the bodybuilding stuff, um, a couple years ago."

"But you're a real, actual fireman," the blonde said. "Some of us girls were wondering about that—whether the Men at Work guys were all models, or whether they're actually what they're dressed as."

"I can't speak for the other guys, but I'm the real deal," Chet said.

"I'm Tracy," the blonde said, "and she's Sharon. We're vet school students. That's why we have the calendar—it's a benefit for the animal shelter."

"Oh, yeah," Chet said slowly. "I'd forgotten what the pictures were actually for. A great cause," he said. _Public relations,_ he reminded himself.

"We'd ask you to autograph our calendar," Sharon said, "but … well, it was in the kitchen. Probably not much left to sign."

"I'm really sorry about your kitchen," Chet said. "It looks like it was an electrical problem in the stove, from what we could see."

"Is it really bad in there?" Tracy asked.

Chet hesitated for a moment. This was the part of the PR he wasn't looking forwards to.

"It kind of is," he said. "The fire had gotten inside the walls behind and next to the stove, and we had to pull down some of the walls and ceiling to make sure all the fire was really out. Plus, whenever we have to use water to put a fire out, and not just a chemical fire extinguisher, there's water damage, too."

The women's elation at meeting Mr. January turned to deflation as they realized that their home was severely damaged.

"Will we be able to stay here?" Sharon asked.

Chet shook his head. "Not for a while. The county code inspectors will have to do an inspection, and then they'll decide whether the structure is safe. Then there will be a lot of cleanup needed, from the water and the smoke."

"Oh," Tracy said in a small voice. "Oh."

"I'm really sorry," Chet said.

"We were getting ready to have a party this weekend," Sharon said, looking out the window at the house, where Marco was exiting with a pike pole. There was a chunk of what looked suspiciously like sodden sheet-rock on his shoulder.

"And …" Tracy sniffled, then continued, her voice shaking, "we were just talking about asking if you would come! But now our house is in ruins, and … and …"

Chet reached under the seat for a roll of paper towels, and silently handed her a sheet from the roll.

She blew her nose, and took a few deep breaths. Then, inexplicably, she burst out laughing—not her earlier giggles, but a deeper sound.

Sharon looked at her oddly. "Uh, Tracy? You okay?"

Tracy wiped one last tear from her eyes, and laughed again.

"It's pretty funny, actually. Our house is in ruins, from a fire that burned up the picture of the guy who put it _out_, for crying out loud, and now we're sitting with him, in the back of his fire engine!"

Sharon managed a snort, and one corner of her mouth quirked up slightly. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But the party's a lost cause."

Chet couldn't really add anything to that—there was no way they'd be having a party in that house any time soon.

"But maybe …" Tracy said, glancing at the calendar, looking over at Sharon, then glancing at Chet again. "I'm sorry—I didn't even ask your name."

"Chet Kelly," Chet said.

"Mr. Kelly," Tracy said, and was quickly interrupted by Chet.

"Please, call me Chet, or I'll think you're talking to my father."

"Okay then, Chet. Would you, by any chance, be free on Friday night? I know you firemen work an awful lot, but … here's what I'm wondering. I bet one of the other girls from the vet department would host the party instead, if we promised to bring you."

"Uh …" Chet fumbled, suddenly feeling a little bit like one of the animals up for adoption at the pound.

"You're famous in our department—trust me on this," Tracy added, sensing Chet's discomfort. "All the girls will want your autograph. Plus, when they hear you put out our fire, they'll know you're not just a pretty face."

Chet was sure his face was the color of the engine.

"Tracy," Sharon protested, "you're embarrassing him."

Tracy cleared her throat. "Sorry. I'm … pretty stressed out right now. But … would you think about coming? Please?"

"And any of the other guys from your station would be welcome, too," Sharon added.

Chet thought for a moment or two, about whether he wanted to put himself into the situation he was imagining: an apartment full of young women (okay, probably plenty of men, too), where all the girls there had seen That Picture, as he was starting to think of it. And where they all wanted his autograph, and saw him as some kind of superhero, for cryin' out loud, when really 95% of the job was dirty and smelly and completely unheroic, and they'd probably all be hanging all over him, and making puppy dog eyes at him, and …

"Sure," Chet said. "I'd love to."

**TBC**


End file.
